Whispers Through the Walls
by Disgruntled Jimmies
Summary: There are a million million worlds. All different and all similar. All are made up of constants and variables. Though the time of events may happen at a different time and in a different place, one thing will always stay the same, and that is that there's always a man, there's always a lighthouse, and there's always a city.
1. 1929- New York City

**One Jump Ahead**

Booker hastily shoved a handful of clothes into the already overflowing suitcase, hardly paying attention to what he was putting in there. He was practically laying on it as he struggled frantically with the case's metal clasps.

"Where we going, papa?" yawned the young Anna Dewitt, the eight year old was seated on her already neatly packed, smaller suitcase by the only window in his dinky office. She tried to rub the sleep from her eyes with one hand, she had been woken far earlier than normal as the indigo blue sky of night was starting to fade into light blue. She had her other hand wrapped protectively around a small, blue hardback book, the only possession she was allowed to bring, though it was the only possession she really had besides her clothes.

"A long, long ways away kiddo," Booker said, opening a drawer in his desk and pulling out a meager looking wad of bills and his pistol, he stuffed the money inside a pocket within his vest. He was strapping his gun within his shoulder holster when he heard the knock at his office door, followed by a voice that made his blood run cold.  
"Come now Mr. Dewitt, time's a-wastin',"

Booker could see the silhouette of the man through the obscure glass, and from he could see, the man was not alone. Two much larger shadows made them-selves noticeable, Booker wrenched open the window that Anna was seated by and tried to quietly set his suitcase on the platform of the fire escape outside.

"Papa, who are those men outside?"

"They're no-one Anna, give me your stuff-now climb out the window-careful!"

"Mr. Dewitt do not make this any more difficult than it needs to be. Just give us the girl, and your debt will be swept away!" a fist was now pounding at the door, the flimsy wood shuddered in its frame from the force.

Booker was half-way out the window, when the door let out a loud crack, and flexed inwards.

"Come on Fredrick put some back into it, don't just stand there you useless lump, help him break down that damn door!"

He pushed the rest of his body out the window and tossed their bags over the side of the railing into the dirty ally below. Anna, thinking ahead, was already half-way down the ladder. Booker began his hasty decent as a splintering crash signified that the men had broken through. Heavy, hurried footsteps raced across the floorboards to the open window.

"They're climbin' down the fire escape!"

Booker checked to see if Anna was safely out of the way, and let him-self drop the rest of the way. There was a shock wave of pain in his knees from the impact, but he staggered forward and fumbled for their suitcases, fitting both of them under one arm while he grasped Anna's smaller hand and they'd sprint towards the street.

A gun fired behind him, dirt hit the back of his shoes as the bullet missed its destined target. Booker tugged Anna around the corner, a man leaned against a station wagon under the lamp post, about to light a cigar hanging loosely from his mouth. He looked up as the two came racing down the sidewalk, his only visible eye wide with surprise, the other covered by an eye patch. The cigar in his mouth fell from his loose lips, and rolled across the pavement. The man didn't event seem to care when Booker's face stomped on it as he began to toss his and Anna's bags into the backseat from the open car window.

"Get it started, Slate!" Booker shouted as he raced over to the other side of the car, still holding Anna's hand, he pulled open the passenger door and climbed in. Slate was hastily climbing into the driver's seat as Booker grabbed Anna under her arms and hoisted her into his lap. While Slate was struggling to start the vehicle, Booker risked a glance behind him.

Three men raced down the stairs of the apartment building, two had their guns drawn. Booker leaned forward, pushing his daughters head against her knees, there was another shot, and the cars tiny mirror shattered sending glass shards flying.

"Start the damn car already," Booker cursed.

"I'm tryin' damn it, I'm tryin'!" Slate shouted and gave the key another twist, the ignition finally roared to life and he stomped on the gas pedal and they raced away down the street.  
Booker didn't dare look up until they were almost out of the city, only when Anna started to complain about the uncomfortable position, did he sit fully upright. He glanced behind them only to see empty roads, the sky behind them was now the light blue or early morning, bright yellows and oranges from the rising sun peaking over the top of New York City skyscrapers.

"What now, DeWitt?" Slate asked.

"I'm meeting someone in Pittsburgh, they can get us out of here." Booker let his head thump against the headrest, and rubbed at the dark circles under his eyes, he had received very little sleep from nightmares that plagued his mind, images of little fingers behind ripped away from him, of bullets flying through the air, and blood on his hands. As they drifted farther from the city, the nightmares began to fade away with it.

"Where ya going to run to, Dewitt? Fink's got eyes and ears throughout the whole country, he ain't gonna stop till he gets what he wants." Slant glanced at the tiny figure, who deciding that this was the opportune moment to catch up on lost sleep, was curled up against Booker, her head lolled over and rested against Booker's chest. The steady beating of his heart making her drift off to sleep.

"That's why we ain't stayin' here."

"What do you mean?"

"We're leaving the country."

"What! Where the hell you going to go?"

A lopsided smile crossed Booker's face as he glanced at Anna, fast asleep against his chest, he stroked the top of her head.

"Paris."


	2. 1951-Rapture

**Under the Sea**

The Fight McDonagh's Tavern was filled with high spirits. The place was mostly empty expect for the remaining four patrons, three of them giving hearty, albeit tipsy, slaps on the back in congratulations.

"So what's your baby girl's name?" Bill asked, filling up his own glass again.

"Anna," Booker replied, a small smile crossing his face.

"Very close to wife's name, no?" Ivan Karlosky said, a pale haired Russian man, he poured him-self another glass of what passed for alcohol here in Rapture, he offered the bottle for Booker to take.

"She wanted to name her after her grandmother," Booker said his fingers itching to take the offer, instead he declined. Karlosky shrugged and passed the bottle to the thin African American man beside him who spoke up next.

"You got a kid your-self don't ya' Bill?" Redgrave asked.

"That's right, little Sophie was born a few months ago," Bill said, a proud smile on his face.

"Well, at least I don't have to worry about her now havin' any friends when she gets older," Booker liked Bill, he was a good man and easy to get along with.

"Elaine will be happy as well, maybe give er' some piece of mind to know that little Sophie will have someone to play with down here," Bill added. Booker nodded, both he and Bill were well aware of how their wives felt about raising a child in Rapture.

Karlosky startled the two of them as he slammed empty glass on the counter top.

"Come now more drinks, should celebrate while we still can," and Booker was reminded that things were starting to heat up in Rapture's security, the increase of smuggling was starting to make the place busy. Booker was his own private investigator and in being so he was able to be cut out from the whole smuggling business with Fontaine, he mostly dealt with smaller problems that plagued Rapture, mainly small domestic cases or thefts. Though he still had to send reports to Sullivan, the head of security in Rapture.

"Let's not get him too drunk, he's got a little tyke to look after now," Bill added, putting a hand over Bookers glass as the Russian attempted to fill the half empty glass back up.

"He barely had enough to make him tipsy, let alone drunk!"

"I'm taking Bill's side on this, besides my drinking days are behind me now."

"Ha!" Karlosky laughed, slapping his knee, and spilling some of his drink onto the floor in the process, "Your wife whip you like little boy, eh!"

"Damn right, Annabelle will have my hide if I come home even a bit tipsy." Booker chuckled, pushing the remainder of his drink aside.

"Well, let's at least have one more toast then," Bill said, pushing the glass back towards Booker, and raising his own glass in a toast, Karlosky and Redgrave did the same with theirs.

"To Booker DeWitt and his new baby girl!"

The others finished their drinks, but Booker left his half-empty glass alone.

* * *

Booker ended up leaving after their toast to him was over, and made his way back to his flat that resided on the fifth floor of Artemis Suits in Apollo Square.

Annabelle Dewitt was seated on the small couch they had, beside her was their neighbor, Nicole Callaghan, cooing over the child his wife held in her arms, swathed in a number of blankets.

The two of them looked up as Booker entered, a tired smile crossed Annabelle's face, Callaghan smile was turned upside-down for a moment towards Booker's presence, she forced her frown into a small smile as she bid his wife a goodnight.

Booker held the door open for her, and in turn she scowled at the wet, light brown stain on his sleeve and the cigarette smoke clinging to his clothes.

"I don't think Miss Callaghan fancies me that much," he said once he and closed the door, it was just the two of them now.

"I think she doesn't appreciate a husband who comes home smelling like he's been drinking," there was a scathing tone in her voice, she slowly stood up, rocking the baby in her arms gently.

"It was just a few drinks, now don't give me that look! I'm still on my feet aren't I?" Booker raised his hands in defense as Annabelle focused a harsh glare towards the brown stain on his white sleeve.

"Karlosky spilled a bit of his drink on me." He quickly explained, and rolled the sleeve up to his elbow.

"I don't want to go back your old ways again," she sighed, cradling their child close to her, "we have a child to think of now,"

"It was only a few drinks, nothing serious, Bill just wanted to celebrate," he sighed, running his hands through his messy brown hair.

His wife smiled and moved closer to Booker, giving him a small peck on the cheek. She carefully moved the baby into Booker's arms "Alright, its fine it was only a few drinks, but nothing more than that."

Booker had stopped listening as soon as Anna was in his arms, he stared at his child in a sort of dazed wonder. Annabelle smiled softly, but a stray though turned it into a worried frown.

"Booker," she moved closer to him, laying her head on his shoulder "are you sure we can raise a child here, in this place?"

"We have to, there's no turning back now." He laid his head against hers, "and besides was our old life any better?"

"I don't know," she sighed and took Anna back into her arms, walking towards their bedroom. A fairly small room occupied by their bed and a crib just on the other side of the bedside table.

"No more debt, no more running, we don't have to worry about those things anymore," he said quietly, following behind.

"I just don't want our daughter to grow up never once seeing the sky," she said, glancing out the window that overlooked the underwater world of the dark ocean.

"I won't be like that forever, once Ryan gets his head straight thing will change, you'll see." Booker said, wrapping his arms around her waist, and laid his head on her shoulder reassuringly.

"I hope your right." She murmured as she laid Anna down in her crib, the reflection of the ocean water dancing across the walls, surrounding the room in a cold blue light as night began to fall in the underwater utopia.


End file.
